Slaughter on Mortintoj
Slaughter on Mortintoj is the record of an interview with Captain James O'Neill by an unnamed reporter, in which he describes the traumatic events that took place during his first engagement, the Battle of Mortintoj. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ /BEGIN_RECORDING/ Reporter: "Hello, Captain O'Neill. Fine day, isn't it?" James O'Neill: "Yeah, guess so." Reporter: "Okay, now to get down to business. I'm going to ask you a few questions about what happened during the Battle of Mortintoj, to let the public know about this little-known engagement." O'Neill: "Yeah, yeah. Let's just get it over with." Reporter: "Now, could you give us a bit of background, for the record?" O'Neill: "Well, I was 18-years-old at the time of the battle, and I was the greenest lad you'd probably would've ever saw. I was assigned to a squad-" O'Neill winces, as if in pain. Reporter: "Are you alright?" O'Neill: "Yeah... I'm fine... just... I apologize." Reporter: "It's fine. I understand that this is very difficult for you to talk about. But, please, go on if you can." O'Neill: "Alright, well, when we landed, almost immediately we were confronted with plasma fire. Corporal Hicks took a hit to the face as soon as he stepped off, one of those damned Jackals with its fancy-ass carbine. The Sarge took a hit to the shoulder from a plasma pistol before he made it to cover. It didn't last long, thank Jesus, 'cause the Pelican, bless those pilots, managed to turn around and cut up the bastards despite the heavy fire. But it took off after that. Couldn't handle it. Can't blame 'em." Reporter: "So, what happened next?" O'Neill: "We managed to meet up with the rest of the platoon, but the el-tee was dead, took a hit to the chest from a sniper. So, Sergeant Major Smith was in charge, and he ordered us to head to a local restaurant, I think it was an Italian restaurant or somethin', and hold there. Good Lord, was that a big mistake. About ten minutes after arriving there, we lost contact with the Sergeant Major, and got nothing but static." Reporter: "Did you hear anything indicating that they might have been attacked?" O'Neill: "No, at least I didn't. Maybe someone else did. But all I heard was the typical exchange of fire and orders, and then just silence." Reporter: "So what did you do?" O'Neill: "Sarge, I think he might've panicked a little, decided we should hold there and wait until they came back online, even though we all knew they wouldn't. Looking back, had I been in command, I would've got our sorry asses outta there, and I think I thought about that, but I didn't say anything. I was too damn scared." O'Neill takes a deep breath. O'Neill: "After that, I remember hearing the hellish, unholy sounds of those little Grunts, and that I almost pissed myself. We all stayed silent and hoped that they would just pass by. But they didn't. Next to me was the other rookie, Ol' Denny, and we were both sitting against the wall, shaking so hard you'd think we were freezing cold." O'Neill pauses and takes a deep breath. Reporter: "It's okay. Take your time." O'Neill: "So, the little bastards walked into the building, and I immediately through myself and Denny to the ground and I whispered for him to play dead. The rest of the squad opened up... and now, I feel really guilty, not helping. Maybe I could've helped them, I don't know. But we stayed flat on the ground, and one of those things through a grenade, and, I..." O'Neill puts his face in his hands. Reporter: "Hey, it's okay. If you don't want to go-" O'Neill: "No, I'm fine. I'll keep going." Reporter: "Whatever you say..." O'Neill: "The grenade killed most of the guys, and I remember specifically hearing the Sarge's scream... and then a hand flew over my head and hit the wall. I swear, I almost threw up. And then one of the Grunts came over and inspected us. Thank God it was too dumb to check our pulses. But it did step on my back, and I had to use all of my strength to not scream. It was just so... fat." O'Neill manages a small chuckle, but then goes silent. O'Neill: "But by this time Denny had had it." Reporter: "What do you mean?" O'Neill: "Well, he grabbed his combat knife, reached up and grabbed the son of a bitch by the mouth and pulled it down and then stabbed it in the brain at least ten times." Reporter: "Ah... I, uh, I see." O'Neill: "I didn't see or hear anything, but I felt the little bastard's blood splatter over my back. That time, I actually did puke, but I held most of it back. But after that, I don't really remember what happened after that. I remember standing up and firing my rifle, then a sharp pain in my side, and then I remember grabbing something that I assume would be Denny, and then hauling ass out of the back door into the alleyway. I remember letting go of him and running ahead of them, and an explosion, and then I was carrying him. It was all just blurry. But one thing I will not forget was the blood. There was so much blood. Alien, mine, Denny's. It was all over me and him." Reporter: "Well, you're obviously still alive. How did you make it out?" O'Neill: "I can't remember exactly. All I can recall is that there was a light, then a voice, a human voice, and then I passed out. When I woke up, I was in a medbay on a cruiser with a bandage on my side." Reporter: "And then you were promoted to lance corporal after you had recovered, yes?" O'Neill: "Yes." By this time, O'Neill would have visible sweat on his forehead. Reporter: "Thank you, Captain. I appreciate that you took your time to help bring this horrible battle to a more public audience." O'Neill: "Yeah, no problem." Reporter: "Go ahead and leave, if you want." O'Neill stands up. O'Neill: "See you around, I guess. I'll be a the pub tonight, drinking away those memories again." Reporter: "I'll try and meet you there." /END_RECORDING/ Category:The Weekly